Orphaner Dualscar

[Orphaner Dualscar]

HERES THE LINE UP



ORPHANER DUALSCAR
THIS IS EVVERY SHADE OF WWRONG


THE ROLEPLAYER.
Y'KNOWW FROLICKING IN THE LAKE
AND SHIT TOGETHER?!

[/b] [/color] Shepherd
AGE Still Old
YEARS ROLEPLAYING Eight
OTHER CHARACTERS Sollux Captor
CONTACT ME BY Carrier Pigeon
SECRET CODE: Aim for the Head
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[/ul]

THE CHARACTER
GO. SLEEP BADLY. ANY QUESTIONS,
HESITATE TO CALL.

[/b] [/color] Orphaner Dualscar--Orphaner being his title.
NICKNAMES He accepts no bastardizations of his name. You may refer to him as "Orphaner Dualscar", "Captain Dualscar", or on occasion "Mister Dualscar".
AGE Fifty-two Sweeps
OCCUPATION Dualscar still does much the same thing he did when there weren't zombies--enslaving others, hunting lususes, and looking for treasure. The only difference now, besides all of those pesky zombies to kill, is that his crew of 'slaves' are, for the most part, willing. With all of the weapons and supplies kept aboard the ship, it has been extremely safe.
ANYTHING ELSE sea dwwellers FOREVVER, BRO [/SIZE]
[/ul]

THE LOOKS
LOOK UP IDIOT IN THE DICTIONARY.
YOU KNOWW WWHAT YOU'LL FIND?

[/b] [/color]
Dualscar's hair typically depends on the nature of what he is doing, or what he plans on doing.
Though consistently dark and short with a pair of impressive sideburns, there are two ways he tends to 'style' it.
For times of rest and formal events, his hair tends to sit flat on his head. Bangs combed to the side and smoothed down in back.
The second way of styling occurs only when he is on his ship. Slicked back from the front and up from the bottom, he angles his hair into sharp, incriminating spikes. The appearance of it, he says, strikes fear into both his enemies and his crew.

FACE [/b]
At its most basic explanation, Dualscar's face is firm and rugged. Sweeps of violence have hardened the troll--this much is clear when one first looks upon him.

His features sit upon a sturdy skeleton, with low cheek-bones and weathered features. His vicious yellow eyes sit above light purple bags and beneath a pair of maliciously expressive eye-brows-- mirrored brilliantly by his lips. And ah, those lips! Set in a long, thin line, tell more of his thoughts than his words ever could. His smiles, which give way to a set of razor-sharp teeth, are as worrisome as his frowns.

As is typical with sea-trolls, two pairs of fins extend from the sides of his jaws where one might expect ears to have formed on another troll. His horns jut outward in a z-shape toward the sky.

And let us not forget the scars from which he has gained his namesake. Dualscar has two long, purple scars across his face. From where he received them, he will never tell.

BODY [/b]
A tall troll by relative standards, the sweeps he's spent fighting, killing, and hunting certainly show. Well-built, certainly, but not bulky or terribly muscular. With the majority of his time spent in the sea, he is far more stream-lined than anything else.

STYLE [/b]
"Gaudy" would probably be the best way to sum it up. Between his absurd regalia that he dons while captaining his ship, and the equally pretentious "casual" wear, it's rare to see Dualscar wearing anything that isn't overly complex and fancy.

ANYTHING ELSE [/b] He wears a lot of jewelry. Manly jewelry, if you ask him.[/SIZE]
[/ul]

THE PERSONALITY
I INVVENTED DICE WWHEN I WWAS A KID.
WWHAT DO YOU DO?

[/b] [/color]

♒ Treasure Always and forever, treasure will top this list. Artistic, expensive--more than anything, Dualscar always surrounds himself with things of the greatest beauty. They grant him the greatest sense of accomplishment and fulfillment.

♒ Sensory/Aesthetic Pleasures Some people are content to take their pleasures in friends or their own thoughts--Dualscar is not such a person. The things he enjoys are purely external; beautiful things, bodily things, etc.

♒ Touches While this would almost seem a direct extension of the former object on the list, it is one of the few things in direct opposition to it. He has had a habit of utterly confusing kismesis before--often stopping them in a gripping, passionate moment, to simply enjoy the feeling of touching one another. He would never verbally admit such, but he derives the greatest sense of pleasure in this simple act.

♒ Purple A rather obvious fact, Dualscar happens to find purple to be the best color in all of Medius. Much of his ship is decorated in deep purples among the gold.

♒ Slaves Though one of the obvious benefits of owning slaves would certainly be not having to do menial tasks and having a constant supply of labour and, if needed, entertainment, the true joy of owning a slave comes in the power trip. The knowledge that you own a life outside of your own--that you completely control every aspect of them. He may not have the mind control that some trolls have, but he certainly knows how to brain wash others.

♒ Swimming The most graceful of all movement, the art of swimming has always been one of his greatest joys. To feel suspended, weightless, yet also so full of capability and potential energy. The water is as still as it is rapid.

♒ Hunting & Killing Lusi While the money he makes from hunting pales in comparison to what he makes from treasure hunting, the hunt of other trolls' lusi has always entertained him. The task was officially ordained to him from the Empress--and, as she means everything to him, he is content to do such. Not to mention that he derives a certain amount of pleasure in knowing that he is orphaning some other troll.

♒ Her Imperious Condescension: The Empress--the one troll to garner an unwavering sense of dedication from Dualscar. He has only seen her once, and though they never spoke, he feels himself more connected to her than any other troll. She represents everything he sees as ideal in a troll; perhaps his greatest sadness in life is the knowledge that he will never be worthy enough for her.

DISLIKES

♒ Land Dwellers: To an extent, though his dislike is entirely superficial. He mostly dislikes the new revolution they threaten, and his own luxury along with it. The world would be far superior with only sea dwellers, as far as he is concerned. There would certainly be no war without them. This is of course a terrible hypocrisy that he refuses to heed. Without land dwellers, he would have no slaves, no one to hate, no one to lord himself over, or boast superiority toward.

♒ Grand Highblood: A fairly recent addition, Dualscar's resentment toward the Highblood almost rivals the one he feels toward Mindfang. While he had always casually tolerated the troll--despite his being a land-dweller, the Empress had always made clear her fondness for him--the troll's flagrant disregard for Dualscar's place on the hemospectrum and subsequent humiliation have made him utterly detestable.

♒ Gamblignants: Foolish, risk-prone marauders in his book--they give a bad name to pirates. The apathy they seem to express toward social conventions have always irked him.

♒ His own shortcomings While no one enjoys facing their own demons, Dualscar takes the particular approach of ignoring and denying them all together.

♒ Exestentialism: Or rather, being forced to inspect his own life and analyze aspects of himself. As stated, he does not like to think too deeply into any subject, pleased to exist in the pleasant grasp of simplicity and ignorance.

♒ Mindfang, and everything representative of her One does not break a man's heart and not expect to be put on his list of dislikes, you know.

♒ The molestation of his gills/fins Really, there is nothing more crass for him. As he would explain, one would not simply walk up to a man and grab his bulge--the same ought to apply to the sensitivity of other extremeties

♒ The pain or suffering of wrigglers It is impossible for him to look into the eyes of a terrified or hurting wriggler without being forced back to a time he cannot cope with. While he may murder adult trolls without much of a backward glance, he is far more awkward with young ones, or those of innocent demeanors.

HOBBIES
♒ Pillaging, treasure hunting Of the many things he was uncertain of as a wriggler, and even today, his love for pillaging and finding treasure has always been a steadfast fact. Nothing quite gets that wonderful, royal purple blood flowing

♒ Filling all of the buckets. All of them Though, facetiousness aside, Dualscar does indeed often treat redrom and blackrom as games to be played and won. Which, unfortunately for him, tends to end with him losing.

♒ Learning about strange human cultures Anything exotic tends to very quickly capture his attention. He tends to pay attention to this hobby in complete secrecy--orientalism, and any interest in anything outside of sea-dweller life (beyond how to best destroy other land dwellers), is heavily frowned upon.

♒ Drinking to the point of incomprehension No matter the feelings one has toward Dualscar, none can deny that he throws the best parties. On his boat. With just about anything anyone could want. Dualscar takes special pleasure in these nights of pure opulence and hedonism.

♒ Attending formal events As a seatroll of royal blood, his presence is requested at a great number of functions and events. Daunting, to be certain, he attends the best of them and enjoys the sense of being part of nobility they give.


HABITS
(and then I was tired of fancy answers, so bluh)
-His fins twitch when he is either angry or excited.

-Stutters quite a bit

-Will behave and hold himself differently, depending on the company he is in.
FEARS
-Growing old

-Losing his ship again

-Having to explain himself/any of his decisions

-Ending up truly alone
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PERSONALITY It is a truth universally acknowledged that any troll who is not Dualscar, must surely wish that they were Dualscar.

Or at least, so it is that Dualscar assumes of all others around him. Even if most who know him would give him the tag of ‘evil’, and quickly attempt to change the subject.

Dualscar is not evil in the sense that he has somehow deterred from the path of ‘good’ and ‘equality’ onto that of malevolence—no, his brand of cruelty is one that is entirely self-aware. He understands that he is needlessly cruel, he understands that the differences between highbloods and lowbloods, and Sea-Dwellers and Land-dwellers, are just laughably minute. He understands that there is no reason to continue as he does, when he could just as easily switch sides. It just truly doesn’t bother him to.

So, perhaps his true malevolence comes in his apathy about real things, and instead focuses entirely on sensation. Politics? Revolutions? Bah. Quadrants? Material Objects? Now hold on there, there’s a few things he cares about. It goes beyond simple affinity for the sensate however—his entire life is focused on achieving more of it. Nothing is ever enough—he can never be satisfied. He will always be striving for more, always hunger for something greater; it is a facet of him that has led to an almost unbelievable arrogance. The ideal that he can achieve anything, that nothing is ever good enough for him, will undoubtedly be his downfall one day.

Yes, Dualscar certainly prides himself on being of ‘higher degree and standing’ than others. He often speaks in an overly-gentlemanly, arrogant sort of way; when not fighting, killing, or partying, he holds himself exceedingly well. He’s all about appearances and maintaining a steady reputation. He often obsesses over his looking-glass self—always considering how others perceive him. For the majority of the time, this causes Dualscar to only show his ‘prim and proper’ side.

It comes as a surprise to most, but Dualscar does occasionaly break the from the serious, more vicious and angry part of himself to have fun. It is true that his ‘fun’ is typically at someone else’s expense, but it is certainly worth mentioning that he has been known to relax and think about something other than his pirating and quadrants for a time. It’s one of the reasons he can be so drawn to those of mischievous demeanors. His ‘serious’ face just tends to be the face that most strangers see and know him by.

Dualscar does indeed live a double-life, with one side focused on opulence and his own hedonistic whims, and one that flaunts itself as completely respectable and classy. Nonetheless, both sides tend to be frightening in their execution.

Dualscar could never give up his double-life. In all reality, even he recognizes that having to give up these elaborate facades he has manifested for himself would force him to face a harsh reality—that there isn’t much substance to his live of identity. If there ever was a ‘true’ Dualscar, he was stifled and silenced as a wriggler, giving way to a person made entirely of ideals and theories. Yes, Dualscar can and often is the “perfect” troll. Violent, cruel and bloodthirsty, he certainly gives the illusion of it. In practice, that is, in reality, there is little truth behind it. Having long grown out of his days of vivid emotional reactions, most of it nowadays is entirely forced. Killing does not have the same pleasure. Enslaving other trolls, finding treasure, drinking—all of it has lost the divine pleasure it once gave him. He still chases after such feelings, however, but as one can never experience the same thrill a second time, there is a desperate yearn for him to always be searching what will inspire such raw feelings in himself. He must kill more, in worse ways, find better loot, and have bigger parties than before; it is the only way he can feel he’s made an achievement. If it seems that he talks about his quadrants often, it is because they never stay filled wrong due to this. Moirails must become kismesis, kismesis must become matesprits, matesprits must become kismesis, and they must all change occupants like a revolving glass door. In short—he constantly needs outside sources to garner a sense of fulfillment.

This is why Dualscar can seemingly morph to fit different situations, as previously mentioned. He can play the part of the upstanding, moralistic highblood, the (briefly) attentive matesprit, the arrogantly confident sea-dweller, impassioned kismesis, unrelentingly cruel slave-driver, thoughtless murder, the childish friend, and any number of other things. It’s also fairly common, if one converses with him long enough, to realize that his ‘firm’ opinions are anything but. To one person, he might say that highblood superiority is inherent. To another, only that sea-dweller superiority is. And to yet another, he might say that it is laughable how little difference there is between any blood, but isn’t it charming how the low-bloods allow themselves to be dominated?

Which does bring up another point—Dualscar’s ideals. Despite the different things you may hear and Dualscar’s odd way of regarding the world, he is a very experienced, analytical troll. He understands the world around him, yes—he is not short-sighted enough to adamantly believe one thing and never see it from another side (something that he used to do unwaveringly). He sees the inequality and injustice among the many facets of Medius’ workings—but he would never do anything to change it. Why would he, when the state of things benefits him now? It is why it was so important to mention his brand of ‘evil’—his system of morality works perfectly well. But, as one might say, “Might makes right”, and Dualscar has no desire to lose an inch of that might.

That said, however, Dualscar has an undeniable loathing of the Grand Highblood—were it not for his immense respect for the Empress, he would truly be tempted enough to join the rebels to simply take him down. If nothing else, Dualscar is a troll who never relinquishes grudges.

Taking everything thus far into consideration, it goes without saying that Dualscar has been completely enjoying the zombies. While he does miss the crying and begging for their lives that normal trolls do, to mow down an entire wave of blood-thirsty zombies is quite the thrill for him. With the trolls and humans so limited in numbers and mostly cornered in the encampment, Medius has become his oyster. More senseless land dweller genocide and unguarded treasures at every turn? Yes, it is certainly ideal for him.

In the end, Dualscar is a hypocrite. Which works well for him, really, until someone else has the courtesy to point it out. At which point, he will become violently defensive. Most who know Dualscar are well aware of the fallacies he spews and the double life he leads, but few have ever said anything to the troll who might show up to a gala and act of only the highest social caliber, directly after throwing a boat-party of utmost depravity the night before.

In all reality, Dualscar does realize that he is something of a joke. His double lives, his hypocrisy, the abundant flaws in direct opposition to his own boasting. But, as mentioned, he simply doesn't think deeply into such things; he will never allow himself to.
[/ul]

THE FAMILY
WWELL, HE USED TO BEAT ME IN MORSE CODE,
SO ITS POSSIBLE

[/b] [/color]
A large, sea-dwelling lusus that would closest resemble a hippocamp. He often spars with and rides it.
Of relation to Eridan Ampora
PETS
Does his crosshair count as a pet? It has certainly been the loyalest companion he's ever had.
[/SIZE]

HISTORY Dualscar was hatched as any other troll—the only difference of course being what most sea trolls go through. He did not find his lusus outside of the trials, but instead had to make the perilous crawl to the sea to meet his. An enormous creature, he became his protector and his educator.

From a very young age, Dualscar (though such was certainly not his name at the time) was made privy to the information that he was royalty. He didn’t necessarily understand the connotations of this, but his lusus made it terribly clear that it meant he was expected to learn certain things, act in a certain way, and believe in certain things.

All of which he did not do—not initially, anyways. As a sea troll, he was expected to be vicious, strong, of unwavering confidence in action and mind. Despite being nobility, even among his fellow sea dwellers, Dualscar was none of these things. Shy and uncertain, he was brimming with questions for his lusus. What made a highblood? Where was the cutoff? Why is one blood high and not another? Why do lower bloods have to die? It is a surprise that his lusus did not simply abandon him, so far from the expected realm of highblood nobility. It was probably only his blood that saved him—had he been any lower on the spectrum, his questions would have been too dangerous to permit his living. Such things were simply accepted truths; not things to be questioned and analyzed, but things to be accepted and enjoyed. But no matter how his lusus attempted to assure him that it was a fact beyond explanation, Dualscar questioned.

He was something of an idealist as a wriggler—far moreso than he is now. He was often torn between his intrigue with the land dwellers and their world, and his lusus’ constant talk of sea dweller superiority and of how their entire genocide would make the world a far better place. When his lusus was out to see, or otherwise too busy, he would often sneak from his hive and simply watch the land dwellers. He didn’t dare go on shore, but certainly enjoyed watching them. He did this for some time, until his lusus discovered what he had done. After that…well, suffice to say, he did not do it again. He had his first taste of the repercussions one might receivefor deviating away from the political standards. His lusus explained that if another sea troll had found him observing land dwellers with any intent other than termination, he would have been permanently blacklisted from troll nobility, blood color or no.

Eventually, his lusus decided it was time for Dualscar to leave the hive that had been provided for him (an ornate, sunken ship), and meet other sea trolls who would perhaps do a better job of instilling sea-dweller and high-blood nobility into him. Or, more likely, he was just tired of dealing with a wriggler that didn’t meet expectations. Which, of course, he was right in doing—necessity bred quick education. His questions were not tolerated among them—they did not want to talk about what blood meant, or deal with any of his odd idealism. In fact, most of them didn’t want to talk to him at all. Shy and mild-mannered and with a nervous stutter to boot, he was in no way the picture of sea-dweller nobility that he was meant to encompass. And so, as sea-dwellers are wont and taught to do, he was teased.

For a while, Dualscar was distraught by these teasings. He would cry, run to his hive, tell his lusus about how he had teased them, how he must have been truly awful to be treated as such, and then his lusus would hit him. It was a pattern that lasted for some time, and Dualscar assumed that the hits were just another confirmation that he needed to change what he had been teased about. Until, one day, he returned to his hive in tears after being mocked for his stuttuer. That day, he did not express remorse for his stutter—he became angry and indignant. He paced his hive in his fury, shouting about their own flaws, and how his stutter in no way determined his worth. His lusus did not hit him—only nodded in agreement. Dualscar finally realized why his lusus had hit him the times before—not for his flaws, but over the fact that he had been ashamed of them and felt guilty about an aspect of himself. In such a way, Dualscar became confident with himself. He stopped crying at the insults, stopped doubting himself, and vehemently attacked anyone who ever thought to question him or diminish his worth with an insult. After one young sea-troll made fun of his stutter, Dualscar beat him to death with a piece of corral. None of the other sea-troll wrigglers made fun of him after that.

And yet, he still found himself somewhat curious and sympathetic to the land dwellers and the plight of the low bloods. At the very least, it was something interesting for him. He always asked questions, always curious—that all ended when he met the empress.

Or, met is not quite the right word, for he never did, nor has not now, spoken to her. It was during his first court meeting as a member of troll nobility. He can remember little of his initiation, nor much else of what happened; all he can remember well from that day is her. The young empress, Her Imperious Condescension. He was completely taken aback by her, and couldn’t pry his eyes from her for the entire day. In that day, he began waxing red for her—something that he has never abandoned. Finally, he understood sea-dweller nobility and high-blood nobility. If a troll as beautiful and magnificent as she represented the epitome of both, than clearly there was a logic to what his lusus had been saying. She had never spoken a word to him, but he could hear that sweet, lilting voice in his head whenever he closed his eyes. That laugh, that manner! The way she held herself—as graceful as the waves she came from. She hadn’t even spoken to him, and he was in love. She haunted him, and he ached for her. She was utter perfection, and he lost all thought of land dwellers and their plights, as she was adamantly for sea-dweller superiority. She soon became everything to him, and he deigned to do whatever it would take to please her and one day be the sort of troll she would pay attention to. So, with the help of an elder troll, he learned everything he could about her, and changed his ideals accordingly. He inquired within the sea-dweller nobility, and, upon discovering that the empress needed more trolls to hunt lusi for her, set out to do such.

Upon acceptance, his lusus helped him to gain his first boat to better pull off his duty. Which is to say, that his lusus helped him to take over and kill the occupants of a small fishing vessel. Upon establishment of the vessel, the royal court gifted him his first slave—a girl half a sweep younger than him, of light orange blood. She had been a slave from birth and readily followed her new master. He very quickly warmed up to the idea of having a slave, of all of the power it granted him. He was no longer the shy troll with a stutter who everyone ignored, but a master of a ship and a slave; he relished the authoritative feeling it granted him. From then out, his course in life was by and large plotted. He began to acquire more slaves, and took over bigger boats. But still, it was a fairly modest set-up for one of his nobility—and in contrast to the enormous and well-furnished hive that his lusus had provided, it was certainly a down-grade. The pay for killing lusi was not quite enough to furnish his expensive tastes.

His luck changed, however, when he found his first treasure. He sailed into the coast-side cave on accident, chasing after a lusus that had run for cover. Upon harpooning the creature, he noticed a glitter toward the back of the cave. He swam under the water to find a small, underwater entrance into another small cave. It was there that he found his first treasure. Atop a glittering pile of treasure sat a magnificent weapon—a crosshair that he uses to this day. Pawning the jewelry off, he made an exponential amount of boonbucks. The rush it gave him was indescribable. The feeling of accomplishment, the pure joy at holding those magnificent trophies! Something was realized in that moment—he knew that he had found his calling. With that money, he was able to buy a massive ship, as well as a series of maps from shady sources. And so, the ‘job’ he had been ordained from the empress became more of a past-time to him, while treasure and slave hunting became his true vocations. Thanks to how the Empress had set things up with her hunting fleet, he was free to do whatever he wanted without reprecussions. Unless he directly attacked her, he was untouchable. No…he was immortal. He became the most feared pirate on the sea—and that is exactly how the outside world saw him.

What they did not see, were the inner-workings of his life. No one noticed that that very first slave of us had stayed in his possession for all of the changes. No one noticed when that she didn’t sleep with the other slaves. No one noticed how she looked at him, with such admiration and respect. And more importantly, no one noticed the night he first kissed her on the balcony outside of his cabin, nor the whispered proposal that she be his matesprit. He was only eight sweeps old at the time, and the conflicting feelings were tumultuous at best. He knew how he felt for the empress…but also felt certain that she would never even know he existed, besides another name among hundreds on a sheet of paper detailing troll nobility. And she, that sweet, pitiful young troll, had been the only constant source of comfort and certainty in his life. No matter what, she would always be on board, would always listen, and always support him. She was everything the sea trolls were not; and while he knew it was wrong to wax any color for her, the moment came when it was too much to bear in secret. She became his first matesprit.

The arrangement continued for some time, in complete secrecy from the outside world. He was careful to keep their relationship secret, even from his own slaves—and if anything, she was more careful than he. One cannot say how long they might have continued in such a manner, were it not for a fellow slaver sneaking aboard his ship and, in an attempt to assassinate him, broke into his room. He would find the two of them locked in a red embrace—he smirked; she wore the brands of a slave, instantly giving the two of them away. It was a better bargaining chip than having to kill him. He demanded all of Dualscar’s other slaves for his secrecy. Dualscar had no choice but to accept.

In the next week, Dualscar hunted down the other slaver and killed him and all of his crew—no matter his promise, he could not be allowed to live with information that could destroy his reputation. Once dead, Dualscar took back his slaves, and the slaves of the other troll.

With the other troll’s death, one might assume that the story could end on a happy note.

It couldn’t.

He invited his matepsrit up to his cabin for dinner. After eating, he explained that he could not be with her—that he had seen the folly of his ways, and that such a union could not be permitted. He had been a fool to believe that they could supersede the rules of the world they lived in, and that it was imperative to kill anyone who had known about them to prevent any chance of the information spreading. Sullen, she nodded, and said that she understood—that she knew his livelihood and position in seadweller nobility had to be protected at all costs, and she was glad everyone who knew was dead.

But not everyone who knew was dead, he responded.

She was confused, until he had set upon her and began strangling her. Thrashing beneath him, she attempted to escape—the only time she would ever do anything against his will. With her last burst of energy, she darted her hand out and, with her claws fully extended, she tore two thick cuts across his face. After that she went limp, and her only movements were the spasms of death.

He was plagued with the trauma of it for a time, adamantly refusing the medical personel on board when asked if he would like to sew the cuts up to prevent scarring. He would keep them, he decided, to always remember the mistake he had made, and why it was imperative to always hold fast to high-blood and sea-dweller nobility. It was at this point that he decided on the name he would be called, as all troll do eventually.

The following sweeps of his life would only fit novels--the extent of his experiences and confrontations the stuff of fiction. Dualscar had become a Byronic hero--brave, cunning, and adventurous as any storybook pirate, but teeming with flaws that would set him as a villain. He murdered without cause, pillaged entire villages of humans and trolls, found treasure, hunted enormous lusi, acquired an enormous list of enemies, battled the Gamblignants on regular occasion, and experienced the thrill of quadrants with any number of people. Through it all, he lost track of his former selves--the idealist, the troll who would become dignified for the empress, and the man who had truly loved another--and became something entirely new. He ruled the world, and the arrogance was titillating; nothing could knock him down.

And then he met Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, who would change his life in more ways than he was prepared.

The veritable queen of the gamblignants, the day they met began with a full-scale battle between their ships, and ended in one another's arms. All of the kismesis who came before her could only be considered jokes in her light. Cruel, crafty, manipulative, and as beautiful as she was deadly, their rivalry flourished. He was superior to her in status, her maritime overlord, yet her wealth of treasure far outweighed his own. They played a game of sorts as fellow slavers, always attempting to steal one another's slaves and booty. While he was better at full-scale attacks and had more blunt power, she was greater at stealth. Far more times than he would like to remember, he can recall coming aboard her ship, only to see a selection of slaves he had shipped off on smaller boats now in her possession. His passion for her burnt blacker with each experience.

Had things only been able to stay as they had, the trickling series of events that followed may never have occurred. Yet, they did.

Dualscar was not well known for the security of his quadrants--among many pirate circles, his exploits within quadrants were an understood facet of him. Ruled by his emotions in daily life, so too were they. His feelings toward other trolls were often subject to rapid changes that others couldn't keep up with.

While Mindfang was still provoking their kismesis, he began to wax red for her. She was, after all, complimentary to him in his own eyes--and what was even the cause of their rivalry? The more he thought about it, the more he began to prefer the idea of their partnership--together, no one would stand a chance against them.

Mindfang was not privy to this sudden change, and continued attempting to inspire his hate. What he felt was not the good kind of hate, however. When she would steal his slaves, and then make them her suitors through subtle mind control, it was not the lustful hate that Mindfang hoped to inspire in him. Anger, betrayal, and bitter resentment grew in its stead. She laughed at him, made light of it without understanding that it was more than mere hate for her trifling with those of lower bloods that made him seethe.

The day came when he could not handle her mind-games anymore. Although she had no control over his mind, as she did so many others, she completely controlled his emotions--as such, she might as well have had control of his mind. It reached its boiling point when she engaged him in banter one night. She brought out one of his former slaves and forced him to watch as she half-forced the young girl into a redrom union with her. He left once Mindfang became too absorbed in the other woman to pay attention to him--and that was it for him. How could she flush for a land dweller of such repugnant blood over himself?! How dare she! He had killed for far less, and indeed, kill he would.

The indignant sea troll had the slave executed soon after and, unwilling to allow Mindfang the chance to personally repudiate his redrom feelings for her, increased the bounty on her head. Such was only a formality, however, a sneering glance in her direction to let her know that he would be the death of her.

Unfortunately, he knew he would need to act quickly, lest she retaliate against him. He was not worried for a physical attack, no--but rather, with what her words could do to him. He cursed his foolishness, for having trusted her enough to tell her some of his greatest secrets. His feelings for the empress, to be precise, jolted him into a constant state of fear. Such feelings, secret and unacted upon as they were, were death sentences. He took safety only in the knowledge that Mindfang would not sink to such tactics as he would--and again, he would feel himself burn red for her in the knowledge of this.

He, however, was a different story.

He could not go to the empress, however. Such would be a grave offense, to pester her majesty with his own affairs. Beyond the disrespect it would grant her, it would undoubtedly lead to his own execution. And so, swallowing his pride, he traveled to the Grand Highblood. The information on her that he had once guarded as dearly as his own, he gave away in the hopes of seeing her perish for her treachery.

What he expected was perhaps a curt nod, and the direction to leave the Highblood's sight. What he was not expecting was to see a throne-room covered in all shades of blood.

Nor the fact that his own blood would soon be added to those walls after giving his report.

He should have been killed, he would later find out--the grand highblood was not known for any degree of mercy when there was blood to be shed, regardless of the nobility of those involved. What it is that saved his life is anyone's guess. As it was, he was only imprisoned and tortured in a dungeon. He spent nearly an entire sweep in there; in that time, his fury grew. Still steaming with anger over Mindfang, the insubordination of the Highblood made him murderous. How dare he trap him; how dare he treat one of nobility in such a way! Again, he thought back to the lessons his lusus had taught him; to everything he had forced himself to believe. How could any of it be true when he was trapped down there? It was an arduous time, to say the least. When he finally managed to escape, he was eager to escape both the physical and mental prisons he had suffered in.

From there, he made his way back to the sea--there, he could not be touched by them. Although abandoned and gutted clean of its many treasures by robbers, Dualscar was pleased to find his old boat where he had left it. In a state of disrepair, he was glad to find the floorboards in his cabin unmolested--upon removing them, he found the remainder of his treasure maps. And so, gathering enough supplies and slaves in town (forced kidnap, he would be shamed to admit), he set off to claim these treasures he had been saving for such an occasion.

The following time was spent largely at sea--only stopping to replenish supplies, trade away goods, and find trolls capable of helping him to repair his ship. He kept largely to himself--the myth of Dualscar, the noble sea-dwelling pirate slowly faded. He could not chance the Highblood learning of his position, nor Mindfang if she still lived.

Constantly on the move, Dualscar was not aware of the outbreak until long after it had been well-established on land. He only began to notice that something odd was going on when the first port he came back to was completely abandoned. Bemused, he assumed that it must have meant that the Highblood/Lowblood war had finally bubbled over.

When all of the hives he passed were equally abandoned, he realized that there was something fishy going on.

The second city of hive complexes he came to were on fire. Assuming that he had finally caught up the the battle, he exited his ship, ready to fight lowbloods. When he went on land, however, he did not find a fight; at least, not a direct one. Trolls trudged through the streets, brain-dead and sightless--they only flicked to life when they noticed him. Confused, but nonetheless prepared. Dualscar cut through them as he made his way through the town. He made it to a street of smaller hives (and without fire) and, whilst looting them, found a young male troll cowering in a corner. Relieved at the site of another troll, the male begged Dualscar to help him escape. It was through him that Dualscar learned of the infection. After getting the information he needed, Dualscar took the man on as a slave.

Despite the initial shock at the situation, Dualscar's adaptation to it was quick. The outbreak, he realized, meant only positive changes for him. No Highblood breathing down his neck? The countless deaths of land dwellers? Unguarded plunder just waiting for his fingers to steal? Hordes of enemies to fight? Yes, a good deal indeed.

During a routine pillaging and zombie murdering spree, Dualscar came upon a flier on the wall--too crisp to have been hung before the infection. He read about the encampment, shocked that so many had lived. He steered his ship in its direction.

While his initial plan had been to burn the place to the ground and steal what he could, he found it to his liking, and decided to lower anchor just out of the coast, as a semi-permanent residence when he was not out to sea otherwise. Or rather, he remembered how awful of company his slaves were, and that he enjoyed a wide variety of people to converse with.

Now, he does much the same thing as he did before--though very often now, what he hunts is given in secrecy to feed those in the encampment. Not that it ought to be much of a secret, who it is sending skewered whales and dolphins to shore.


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